Cloak and Dagger
by DoctorH
Summary: Roger and Eve Thornhill have begun a normal life, when the Professor shows up and tells them that their lives are in danger. Roger and Eve are forced to flee to a remote cabin, where they encounter some mysterious agents. Roger, a wiseguy who finds himself once again unwillingly drawn into the topsy-turvy world of intelligence, tries to deal the situation.
1. A Visit From An Old Acquaintance

**1\. A Visit From An Old Acquaintance**

"Keep the change!" Roger Thornhill stuffed some bills into the taxi driver's hand. The driver, a balding and heavy-set fellow, quickly determined that the bills given to him more than covered the fare, and included a rather generous tip. The driver turned to thank his passenger, but Roger was already gone, darting up the walkway toward the front door of his house.

"Eve!" Roger called, upon entering the front door.

Eve Thornhill appeared at once from the living room. "Roger, your secretary called, and said you'd be home early. But I didn't expect you this soon."

"I didn't want to wait for the 2:17 train," Roger hastily explained. "So I grabbed a cab. Now, get packed, we're leaving!"

"What? Why?"

"Pack at least a week's worth of things."

"Where are we going?"

"I don't know. Connecticut, Vermont, maybe."

"Roger, what's the matter?" Eve pressed. "Why are we going? What about your work? The Forester account?"

"The Forester account is almost done; Redfield can take care of any remaining details. I told everyone I was going on vacation, and that heaven knows I've earned it. So let's get packing!"

Eve placed a hand gently on Roger's chest. "Roger, what's wrong?!"

Roger took two deep breaths. "I saw your old boss today."

"My old boss?"

"The Professor. He came up to me right on Fifth Avenue, walked up to me bold as brass, just after I finished my lunch, and said 'We have to talk.'"

"So, did you talk to him?"

Roger looked at Eve with incredulity. "_Of course not!_ I walked away! I'm not interested in any nutty scheme he wants to run past me! I'm done with that now! And so are you!"

Eve pressed her hand against Roger's chest, harder this time. "You should have at least listened to him."

Roger ignored her remark. "Get packed. We're leaving."

"So we're going into hiding?"

"Yes. Either we're in a heap of trouble, or he wants me or you or both of us to risk our necks all over again for some reason. Either way, we have to get out of here. We're going someplace where he can't find us."

"That would be a wasted effort, Mr. Thornhill," drawled the Professor, stepping out from the living room into the hall so Roger could see him. "We could find you wherever you decided to go. And so could others."

"You!" Roger was seething.

Eve stepped gingerly in front of Roger, placing herself between her husband and the Professor. "The Professor arrived here about ten minutes before you did," Eve said calmly, putting her hand on Roger's arm. "He needs to talk to you."

"I need to talk to you both," the Professor gently corrected.

Roger looked past his wife, and locked his eyes on those of the mild-mannered old man standing in the hall. "Get out." Roger spoke calmly, but the threatening tone in his voice was unmistakable.

"If you want me to leave, Mr. Thornhill, I will. But only if you listen to what I have to say."

"The answer is no. Get out."

"Well, _I_ want to hear what the Professor has to say," Eve implored, "even if you don't."

Roger looked at Eve, then at the Professor, then back at Eve. Roger had been with Eve long enough to understand the meaning of her icy, determined stare. He sighed. "All right. But the answer will still be no."

"If that is your decision, Mr. Thornhill, I will abide by it, you have my word. Perhaps, rather than discussing things in this hallway, we might sit and be comfortable?" The Professor gestured toward the living room.

After a few moments, Roger's demeanor softened a bit, and he echoed the Professor's gesture. The Professor shuffled into the living room and made himself comfortable in an overstuffed chair. Eve sat on the couch facing the Professor, and Roger sat uneasily beside her. Eve held Roger's arm while Roger scowled.

"First of all, I must apologize," the Professor began. "I realize that I promised you that we would never meet again; but if you will recall, I said that we would not meet again _unless_ it were something very important."

"Something just occurred to me," Roger responded icily. "I thought that you might contact me when Vandamm comes up for trial on charges of espionage or treason. Is that what this is about? You want us to be witnesses at his trial?"

Eve shook her head subtly, but it was the Professor who answered. "Oh, no, Mr. Thornhill. Vandamm is never going to be put on trial."

This made no sense to Roger. "So, you're just going to keep him locked up in prison, without a trial? I didn't know that was legal."

The Professor shook his head. "It isn't that simple."

Roger turned to Eve, and noticed that she did not seem at all surprised by what the Professor had said. Roger then glared at the Professor. "Where is Vandamm now?"

"At his home, near Rapid City, South Dakota," the Professor answered matter-of-factly.

"He's _free?!_"

"Well, I wouldn't exactly say that. We keep very close tabs on him. You see, Vandamm is much too valuable to us to be locked up in a prison. He's more valuable to us when he's selling our nation's secrets to our enemies."

"_What?!_"

"Of course, these days he only sells the secrets that _we want him to sell_," the Professor explained with a subtle grin.

Roger looked at Eve, who still seemed totally unsurprised at anything the Professor had said. "All this cloak-and-dagger stuff!" Roger huffed.

"Yes, it does get complicated at times," the Professor sympathized.

"So, you're not here because Vandamm is going on trial. Then, why _are_ you here? We're in trouble, aren't we?"

"Please try not to get upset at what I'm about to tell you, Mr. Thornhill, but yes. Your lives, yours and Eve's, are in danger."

Roger tried to stand, but Eve's grasp on his arm made that impossible. "Roger, I expect that what the Professor means to say is that our lives are in danger, but that they are not in _immediate_ danger. Isn't that right, Professor?"

"Quite right. We are perfectly safe here, at the moment. Although you cannot see them, there are several armed men watching this house, guarding it as we speak."

Roger stopped trying to stand, and sat back on the couch, though he was hardly comfortable. "I thought this was all over. I thought you'd fix it so that I could get my life back."

"We _did_ fix it, didn't we?" the Professor mused. "We got you cleared of all charges. Your employer was more than understanding when we explained how you were mistaken for a fellow named Kaplan, and that most of the questionable things you were said to have done were actually committed by this complete stranger, Kaplan, and not by you. We arranged for you to give a brief interview to Look Magazine, in which you discussed your ordeal, being kidnapped and framed for murder and all that."

"An interview I never _actually_ gave," Roger mumbled.

"True, but it had to be convincing; and we couldn't risk having you let slip some the details of our operation or that George Kaplan was actually imaginary. Furthermore, that published interview had the desired effect, didn't it? For one thing, it convinced your mother, and she told any reporters who asked that you couldn't possibly have done all the things that Kaplan did. Her assessment of your abilities was quite persuasive, you know," the Professor chuckled. "With her motherly attitude, she was much more convincing than you could have been on your own. And this cover story allowed you, if you were ever questioned by reporters, to deny knowledge about almost everything, and express your bitterness that you had been mistaken for this fellow, Kaplan. And as you know, it didn't take very long for the reporters to realize that you had nothing interesting to say, and they left you alone."

"You even killed George Kaplan," Eve chimed in.

The Professor nodded. "We not only killed him, we did so in front of reliable witnesses. We also _buried_ him. I don't know whether you knew about that."

"You buried a man who never existed?" Roger scoffed.

"Yes, we did," the Professor replied matter-of-factly. "We held an actual funeral with a genuine casket and several live mourners, complete with moving eulogies."

"With you and your associates being the mourners and eulogizers, no doubt," Roger continued with derision. "After all, you were the only ones who 'knew' Kaplan intimately."

"No, Mr. Thornhill. We used actors, mostly. We told them they were rehearsing for a theatrical project. The pastor was a genuine pastor, though. Kaplan's funeral was quite an expensive affair, but we had to go through with the act, just in case anyone was watching."

"More cloak-and-dagger stuff," Roger muttered. "I do remember that you published an obituary for George Kaplan. I saw it in the _Post_. You used a photograph of _me_, and in true cloak-and-dagger style, you retouched it so that looked not like me but like someone _similar_ to me."

"We had to make it appear that the mistake in identities was plausible. Besides, there never were any actual pictures of Kaplan, as you know."

"That mustache you put on Kaplan's photograph was a nice touch, by the way," Roger remarked drolly. "It made me look like Clark Gable."

"Sometimes it's the small details that make the fakery believable," the Professor chuckled.

Roger was not amused. "But the fakery _didn't_ work, did it? Someone didn't believe it, did they? All of this effort to show that I was innocent: this charade of Kaplan getting killed in front of witnesses; the deception of the false funeral; the made-up interview; the phony obituary. It was elaborate, but it didn't work. There's someone out there who still thinks George Kaplan is actually alive, and that I am actually George Kaplan, isn't there?"

The Professor pouted. "Yes."

"They think I'm a government agent, a spy."

"Yes."

"And they want to kill me."

"Yes. And your wife."

"Who is it? Who's after us?"

"We don't know."

Roger wanted to ask how it was possible for the Professor not to know such a thing, but he sensed such a question would be a waste of time. Instead, he asked, "But we're safe here, in this house?"

"For the time being, yes, we may be at ease. We cannot keep up this level of security indefinitely, however. Things might not only get dangerous for you, but for your neighbors as well."

Roger turned to Eve, then again to the Professor. "Then, pardon me for saying so, but it seems to me that my original plan was a _good_ one! We ought to get out of here, go someplace that is safe."

"Like Connecticut? Or Vermont?" The Professor shook his head. "That would be a mistake. The two of you could be run off the road and have it made to look like an accident. You might be slain in a picnic area and have it made to look like a wild animal attack. Or you might simply be shot by persons unknown in the course of an apparent robbery."

Roger felt his emotional pressure building, and he realized he might soon lose his temper. Forcing himself to be calm, he summarized the situation: "So you're saying that if we stay here, we're not safe; and if we try to hide, we're not safe! I humbly beg your pardon, but I see little there to make me feel at ease!"

Eve remained calm. "Roger, I don't think that the Professor would be here unless there were another alternative."

Roger glared at the Professor. "You _do_ have another alternative, do you?"

"We do."

"And I'll wager it involves more of the old cloak-and-dagger, am I right?"

The Professor sighed. "Yes, Mr. Thornhill; you are certainly right about that."


	2. Journey

**2\. Journey**

The motorcade was made up of three cars. A lead car and a tail car sandwiched a plain gray sedan, in which the Professor, Roger, and Eve rode. The driver of the gray sedan was a stone-faced man in his mid-thirties, whom the Professor had introduced curtly as Reginald. Eve was seated in the front passenger seat, and the Professor and Roger shared the back seat.

Most of the journey was along lesser-used roads, away from the main highways. There were very few road signs that suggested where they were, and the motorcade pursued a winding course. Roger quickly lost track of his location, and he had no idea where he might be going, though it seemed to him that the motorcade was moving mostly to the west, maybe a little northwest. He supposed that he was in the State of New York, possibly near the center of the State.

The ride had been a mostly silent one, with the Professor commenting infrequently about the niceness of the weather and prospects for the Yankees.

Roger refused to get involved in the small talk, but eventually he felt the need to speak.

"Professor, may I ask you something?"

"Certainly, Mr. Thornhill."

Roger nodded in the direction of the driver. "It might be something you might not want anyone else to hear."

The Professor smiled. "It's all right. Reginald hears nothing that we say."

Roger wondered whether the Professor was speaking literally or figuratively, and then decided to press on. "You say we don't know who it is who wants to kill Kaplan, that is, me. How do we know that there _is _such a person? How do we even know that there is a _real _threat against Eve and me?"

For the first time, Roger observed, the Professor seemed uncomfortable. "That is difficult to explain. In our business, information sometimes gets conveyed by people we do not know, in ways that we do not recognize. A threat came to our attention, but we don't know the source of the threat."

"Maybe there isn't _really _a threat at all. That's what I'm saying."

"Whenever we get information that may be of importance, we try to verify it. I won't go into details about how we verify things, but the information that someone was planning to take action against George Kaplan was confirmed in several ways, and we have confidence that the information is valid."

"All right." Roger accepted the explanation, such as it was. "But now answer me this. When I was first mistaken for George Kaplan, you were willing to let Vandamm and his goons kill me, if they could. You were willing to let me die, just to protect your operations and Eve's life. Right?"

"Yes, that's true," the Professor answered soberly.

"But now, you want to keep me alive. Would it be out of line for me to ask why my life, which used to be expendable, has now become, shall we say, more valuable?"

"Perhaps the best way for me to answer would be to explain why someone would be a threat to you in the first place." The Professor took a deep breath. "George Kaplan, as we created him, was no ordinary man. He was a keen observer, a master of many languages, a whiz at mathematics, and an encyclopaedia of all sorts of unusual information. He knew how to pick locks, how to open safes, how to memorize lists, how to operate most kinds of civilian and military weapons."

"In other words, you created Kaplan to be a superman."

"I prefer to think of him as multi-talented, and with a prodigious memory."

Roger caught on. "A prodigious memory: you mean a memory that holds _information_; information that is highly secret; highly secret information that has not yet been extracted; highly secret information that can be lost, perhaps, if Kaplan is killed."

The Professor seemed to be quite impressed with Roger's analysis. "I must say, that your insight into intelligence work can be quite remarkable. And you are right, we created George Kaplan to be a man who knows a great deal, yes."

"And Eve? Why is her life in danger? Why aren't they just after me?"

The Professor sighed. "You may remember, Mr. Thornhill, that the two of you married in secret, and with haste, and without consulting me. When I found out, I expressed reservations about the two of you getting married, as I am quite certain you recall. But neither of you would be dissuaded. So, in addition to engineering the death of George Kaplan, we fabricated the quiet demise of Miss Kendall, for her protection. After all, there would be immediate suspicion that, if Eve Kendall married a spy named George Kaplan, then Eve Kendall may be a spy as well."

"So you worked up a new past for her, and changed her surname to Osborne."

"Yes. We also planted some phony documents and newspaper stories intended to protect the two of you, but you had no way to know that. We wanted to let you get on with your lives. But what I feared might happen apparently has happened. Despite our efforts at covering your tracks, someone noticed that a man _who looked like George Kaplan_ got married to a woman _who looked like Eve Kendall_. Quite a coincidence."

Roger suddenly felt his chest ache. "And from that, that 'someone' concluded that Kaplan and Kendall were not really dead."

"It may be even worse than that."

"I'm on pins and needles wondering how it could possibly be worse."

The Professor took a few moments. "If George Kaplan and Eve Kendall had faked their own deaths, then there may be some question as to who was supposed to be fooled by the fakery. Perhaps Kaplan and Kendall were trying to fool _foreign_ governments." The Professor lowered his eyes. "Or perhaps, just perhaps, they were trying to fool _their own_." The Professor returned his eyes to Roger, to observe his reaction.

Roger sat open-mouthed. Eventually he spoke. "You've lost me."

"One of the peculiarities of our business is that it is sometimes hard to tell who works for whom. Take Vandamm. He used to work for himself, but now he works for us. We have put a great deal of effort into making it appear to whoever buys his information that he is, shall we say, independent."

"I'm still lost."

The Professor took a few moments to compose his thoughts, then tried again. "George Kaplan held a great deal of sensitive, secret information about the United States intelligence community. You didn't, but George Kaplan did; and Eve Kendall likely held sensitive information as well. Now, if George Kaplan and Eve Kendall falsified their own deaths with the intent of fooling _the United States intelligence community_, how might that be viewed?"

Roger felt himself start to shake. "Wait a minute! _They think we're traitors!?_"

The Professor seemed relieved that this time Roger seemed to understand. "Possibly."

"And the people out to kill us are _Americans_!?"

"Possibly."

"You're right, it did just get worse!"

"I'm sorry."

Roger was flustered for a few moments. "Well, you're in the United States intelligence community, aren't you? Can't you tell them we're _not_ traitors, that we _don't_ have secrets to give to enemies, that we are _loyal_ citizens?!"

The Professor spoke carefully. "I have passed that along, Mr. Thornhill."

"Well, do we all play for the same team, or don't we?"

"Things are not quite that simple, I'm afraid."

Roger put his hand on his wife's shoulder. She had listened to this exchange and Roger expected that she was just as troubled as he was. "Eve," Roger began tenderly. "Let's hope that the situation is not really as depressing as I'm beginning to think it is."

Eve turned and smiled. Roger felt himself more shocked by her smile than anything the Professor had said. It was literally the last thing he thought he'd see her do.

Eve shot a glance at the Professor. "I've trusted my life to the Professor more times than I care to think about," she crooned. "And if the Professor has a plan to keep us safe, I think we shouldn't have anything to worry about." She smiled again at Roger.


	3. Arrival

**3\. Arrival**

The motorcade pulled up to the cabin. Doors of the lead and tail cars opened first, and men smoothly egressed from the cars and began checking the grounds. Three men circled the cabin, then entered through the cabin's unlocked front door. Some moments later, one of the men stepped though the front doorway and raised his arms as if signalling a touchdown.

The Professor gave Roger a friendly nudge. "Come on, Mr. Thornhill. Inside, quickly, please."

Roger wanted to enter the cabin cautiously, but Eve took his arm and made him move more swiftly. The cabin was simple but not Spartan. A sitting area and kitchenette and sleeping area formed one room. The only separate room with its own door was a modest bathroom disposed in one corner of the cabin. Roger noticed that the cabin had a small back door, but the back door seemed to be barred and locked. The front door had no lock except for a small, rusty bolt that could be engaged from the inside.

Reginald carried the Thornhills' suitcases into the cabin and placed them on the floor, near the foot of the bed. With a nod to Roger and Eve, he left.

Roger surveyed the setting. "I don't think that bed will be big enough for all three of us, Professor."

"Oh, I'm not staying with you, don't worry about that," the Professor chortled. "This is just for the two of you."

"And we'll be safe here? What I mean is, your men will be on guard at all times?"

"No, there won't be any guards. In fact, we'll all be leaving here shortly."

"_Leaving?!_"

"Yes. There's plenty of food here, enough for at least a week. Supplies are in the cupboards and under the bed. Oh, I'm afraid there is no alcohol here. Sorry about that."

"Wait a minute," Roger protested. "What are we supposed to do here? There's no telephone, no television. Are we just supposed to sit here and wait?"

"Under the bed, I think you'll find a small library of books and magazines. You may wish to catch up on your reading. Oh, and I wouldn't go for any walks in the area, if I were you. You're liable to lose your way. In fact, I strongly recommend that you not step outside the cabin at all."

"And so we just stay here, like sitting ducks, waiting for someone, possibly Americans, to come here and kill us?"

The Professor walked up close to Roger, so close that Roger felt a surprising discomfort. "Mr. Thornhill, I do not know whether you will understand what I am about to tell you. If you had tried to run on your own, then that would have been interpreted as an _admission_ of guilt. You would have been chased and very likely attempts would have been made on your life. By coming here, however, you have some measure of safety that you did not have before. Moreover, by staying here, you will not be trying to flee, and you will effectively be _denying_ any guilt. Mr. Thornhill: you are now in a position in which, if anyone were to kill you, that person would stand to _gain nothing and lose everything_."

"Okay," Roger demurred. "You're exactly right, Professor; I _didn't_ understand a word of what you just said. But what happens now? We wait until you clear things up, or what?"

"Unless I miss my guess, some people will be coming to talk to you. They will not want to kill you. They will just want to talk to you. My advice to you is straightforward. Listen to their questions. Answer their questions. Don't tell them anything unless they _ask_ you about it. Answer _only_ their questions."

"Answer _only_ their questions, why?"

"Mr. Thornhill, it will be your job to give them the information that they _want_. If you try to give them information they didn't request, or if you try to change the subject, you will be making their jobs more difficult. Moreover, they will assume that you are being deceptive or evasive, and _you don't want that_."

"That's right, I don't want that," Roger agreed soberly. "So I'll be good, I promise. Eve and I, we'll _both_ be good. We'll answer their questions. And after we talk to them, we get to go home, right?"

"I hope so, but we'll have to see. And one more thing, Mr. Thornhill."

"What?"

"Please try to treat the situation as seriously as your wife does. If she makes a suggestion to you, you may do well to listen to her very carefully."


	4. Waiting

**4\. Waiting**

It had been half an hour since the Professor and his men had departed. Roger sulked in one of the chairs in the sitting room, while Eve sat on the small couch, looking through a magazine.

"Eve?"

"Yes?"

"What's going to happen?"

"I assume it's just as the Professor said. Some men are going to come here to talk to us."

"And if they don't like what we say, they'll kill us?"

"There's no point in being negative."

"I'm not being negative; I'm trying to be realistic."

"Just be honest with them. Tone down your sarcasm for a bit. I promise that, whatever you say, I'll support. And if I say something, you agree with me. Or at least, don't disagree with me. We'll be fine."

"Okay. Who is coming here?"

"I don't know."

"How many are coming?"

"I don't know."

"Are they Americans?"

"I'm sorry, dear, I don't know that, either."

Roger rose and began to pace. There wasn't much room for him to do so. "Look, Eve, you're more comfortable with all this intelligence mumbo-jumbo than I am."

"Not really." After Roger harrumphed, Eve stood and faced Roger. "Dear, as I've told you, I did not go to any 'spy school.' I am not a trained field agent. I was recruited by the Professor because my background would make me attractive to Phillip Vandamm, and he would take me into his inner circle. About the only things the Professor taught me to do were to secretly send and receive information, and to cover my tracks. My assignment was a fairly simple one, to keep my eye on Phillip and try to learn his methods."

"Even so, you know _a lot_ more about this cloak-and-dagger business than I do."

"Not that much more. Look, Roger, when I was with Phillip, I had to trust the Professor. I trusted him then and I trust him now."

Roger hung his head, then walked to the window and looked out at the trees. "Well, we're out in the middle of nowhere aren't we? I think we may be somewhere near the Finger Lakes, but that is just a guess. These men that are coming, how will they know that we're here?"

"I would suppose that there are ways that they could know. The Professor could let it be known that we'd meet whoever wants to meet us here, on neutral territory."

"Neutral territory?" Roger smiled sourly. "That makes it sound like we're in a war. A war in which, by the way, we are disarmed."

"Roger, please trust the Professor. Like he said, whoever is coming here, if they kill us, they lose. When all this is done, I have complete faith that the Professor will come and get us, and we'll go back to our lives, and no one will bother us again."

"You promise?"

"I promise."

"I'm going to hold you to it." Roger walked slowly to Eve and leaned forward. It was awkward posture, but it since he was so much taller than Eve, it was necessary. He and Eve shared a warm moment. "Sealed with a kiss."


	5. Visitors

**5\. Visitors**

The rest of the day was quiet.

Late that afternoon, Roger and Eve shared a simple supper of cheese sandwiches. Roger suddenly realized that he had not had the opportunity to tell his mother that he was going to be away for a while, and Roger proceeded to fret on the matter. Eve told Roger not to worry, and that the Professor would certainly have taken care of that detail.

Roger continued fretting anyway.

After sunset, Roger found a book and tried to find some light by which to read it. The cabin had only four electric lights, and Roger found the bulbs too dim for his comfort. He decided to fetch his pajamas from his suitcase, and put them on. He climbed onto the bed and found it pleasantly comfortable.

About half an hour later, Eve closed the curtains on the windows, bolted the cabin door, and joined him in bed.

The night was uneventful.

Roger woke about a half hour before sunrise, as the eastern sky was phasing from black to blue. Without disturbing his wife, he eased himself out of the bed and padded to the kitchenette. He discovered to his disappointment that the cabin had no running hot water. Roger also found that the cabin had a cistern that held a supply of water, and that there was a pump that had to be activated by hand to fill the cistern from a well. Roger also found the cistern to be nearly empty.

Roger decided to fill the cistern. The pump squeaked with each stroke, and Roger quickly worked up a sweat from pumping. After the cistern was full, Roger checked on Eve, and found that the noisy pump had apparently not disturbed her sleep. Roger considered taking a shower, but opted instead to clean himself with a sponge bath.

After dressing, Roger decided to make breakfast. He found some bacon and eggs in the icebox, and set them by the stove. Making breakfast turned out to be a complicated operation, however, as Roger had to build a fire in the stove and let the fire heat the stove before he could do any cooking. Roger decided to make some coffee at the same time, but the coffee percolator was a kind unfamiliar to him, so he had to make some guesses as to how to use it. By the time breakfast was ready, Eve was not only awake, but she was also dressed. The two of them shared observations about the cabin as they ate.

The coffee Roger had brewed was way too strong, simply awful. Roger threw away the remaining coffee in his cup, and helped himself instead to some orange juice from the refrigerator. He made a mental reminder to clean out the percolator after it had cooled.

After breakfast, Roger collected the dishes and washed them. He checked the percolator: still too warm.

Roger wiped his hands on a towel and hung the towel on a small hook to dry. It was then that he heard the sounds of automobile tires on gravel.

"Eve! Someone's coming!"

Eve pulled aside a curtain on the window. "There's a car coming."

"Just one?"

"I can only see one."

"Is it the Professor?"

"I can't tell."

Roger heard the automobile tires coming to a halt, and the automobile engine turning off. Moments later, he heard doors opening, then slamming."

Roger started to sweat. "How many are coming?"

"Two. Two men."

"Americans?"

"They look like Americans."

Roger remembered that, when he was first kidnapped by Vandamm's men, they had looked like Americans, too; and so it struck him that his own question was rather silly. He decided to ask something more pertinent. "Are they armed?"

"They might be, I can't tell. They're not holding any guns in their hands. They're talking to one another. Here they come." Eve backed away from the window. "Remember, dear, answer their questions and _only_ their questions. And be calm and tone down the sarcasm."

Roger nodded meekly.

Someone knocked politely upon the door.

Eve opened the door. The two men, both dressed in business suits, removed their hats.

"Mrs. Thornhill?" said the taller of the two men. "May we come in?"

The man's accent was American, Roger noted. Midwestern United States, likely.

Eve made a glance at Roger, then opened the door and allowed the men to enter.

The tall man nodded to Roger. "Mr. Thornhill?"

Roger did not return the nod. "You gentlemen know our names. May I ask, with all courtesy, your names?"

"You may call me Green," replied the tall man. "This is Pearson." The shorter man bowed slightly.

"And may I ask with all kindness," continued Roger, "who or whom do you represent?"

"I think we first ought to invite our guests to be comfortable," Eve interrupted. "So, won't you please be seated? May I get you anything to drink?"

Green and Pearson seated themselves on the couch. "Some coffee would be nice," said Green.

"If this is to be a friendly conversation," Roger deadpanned, "then may I recommend that you avoid the coffee?" Eve shot Roger a glare, and Roger said to her, "That wasn't sarcasm; I was serious."

Pearson smiled immediately. "The coffee's that bad, is it?" His accent was more Southern, possibly Texan.

"To be honest, yes. Not my best work."

"Would you prefer some juice?" Eve offered.

Green shook his head. "Nothing for me, Mrs. Thornhill."

Pearson offered a small wave. "I don't need anything to drink. Thank you."

Eve sat in one of the chairs. After a moment, Roger followed her lead and sat in the other chair.

Everyone sat in silence for a moment.

Roger broke the silence. "So. Who are you two fellows?"

Green cleared his throat. "Mr. Thornhill, we are with a United States government task force." Green unbuttoned his jacket and withdrew a small wallet. Pearson did the same. They simultaneously flipped open the wallets to reveal badges and identification cards. They offered them to Roger. Roger was surprised at the offer, but took the cards and badges.

Roger looked at both badges simultaneously. The badges simply said, "Officer, United States of America, SIR Division." Roger had never heard of "SIR Division," but he surmised that the "I" in "SIR" stood for "Intelligence." Each badge included an engraved number, and Roger noted that the numbers on each badge were small: Pearson's number was 14, and Green's number was 5. Since it seemed to Roger that Green was Pearson's superior, he supposed it was logical that Green would have the smaller number. And since both numbers were less than twenty, Roger guessed that the SIR Division, whatever that was, was probably a very small group.

The identification cards, Roger saw, were rather plain. Each card included a name and an official-looking seal. Instead of a photograph, each card carried what seemed to be a thumbprint.

Roger recalled his first encounter with Vandamm, where Vandamm's lackey had casually remarked that Roger's own documents of identification could be readily faked. For all he knew, Roger mused, the identification cards and the badges he now held in his hand could be fakes. He decided to keep his suspicions to himself.

"I take it you're not with the CIA," Roger said.

"That's correct," Green responded slowly. "We are not officially associated with that agency."

Roger offered the cards and badges to Eve, but with a shake of her head, she declined to take them; so Roger handed them back to the visitors. "I take that to mean, then, that what you mean is that you _are_ associated with the CIA, but you are not associated _officially_."

Green and Pearson exchanged uneasy looks.

Eve placed her hand near Roger's knee. "You must excuse my husband," she began. "He isn't used to interviews by government personnel."

"Darn right, I'm not," Roger muttered. "George Kaplan may have been used to this sort of thing, but it's all new to me!"

Eve squeezed Roger's knee. The message she was sending was clear: Shut up, Roger, and answer _only_ their questions.

Green and Pearson smirked at Eve's gesture, then exchanged uneasy looks once again. Presently Pearson leaned forward. "I beg your pardon, who did you say is used to this sort of thing? George who?"

"George Kaplan," Roger said simply. Eve squeezed his knee again, harder this time. Roger wondered what could possibly be bothering her. This fellow asked about George Kaplan, so he was answering. That was what he was supposed to do, wasn't it?

Pearson turned to Green. "Do you know any George Kaplan?"

Green silently shook his head.

Overcoming his momentary astonishment, Roger grabbed Eve's hand, and removed it from his knee. Then he asked, "You know, don't you, that I was kidnapped because I was mistaken for a man named George Kaplan? And that my life was turned upside-down because of that mistaken identity? I can't believe you would even be here unless you knew about that!"

"Mr. Thornhill," Pearson drawled, "perhaps it would be best if you answer our questions, instead of asking us to answer yours."

Eve put her hand back on Roger's knee.

Roger took a breath. "All right. Let's get this over with. Ask us whatever you like."

Eve gently patted Roger's knee.


	6. Bewilderment

**6\. Bewilderment**

Roger and Eve watched Green and Pearson get back into their car and drive away. When their car disappeared from view, Roger turned to his wife.

"Eve. Darling. What in the world was that all about?" Roger spoke with uncharacteristic softness. "They didn't ask us anything about Vandamm, or government secrets, or any of the events in Chicago or South Dakota. They didn't even know about the George Kaplan business. They didn't even ask us how we met or fell in love."

"No, they didn't."

"They asked me about my high school athletics. They asked me about my schooling. They asked me the name of my _second grade teacher,_ for heaven's sake. Of what possible interest could that be? They asked you about the years you lived in Minneapolis, and the names of the stores you frequented. Why? All the other questions, they were so— so— _unimportant_."

"I have an idea why that was, but I don't know whether it's right."

Roger's face lit up. "Tell me. If you think you understand, please, help me to understand."

Eve sighed. "I know I'm repeating what the Professor is fond of saying, but there probably are no easy answers."

Roger kneeled in front of Eve. "Please," he whispered. "Tell me what you think. Can you at least tell me whether you think we did well or poorly?"

Eve smiled and placed the palm of her right hand on Roger's left cheek. "I think we did just fine. We answered what they asked."

Roger smiled weakly, then placed his had over hers. "So why were there all those questions about unimportant things? Can you tell me anything that will help me to understand?"

"Get something to drink, first, then sit down."

Roger rose and retrieved a cup from the cupboard. He silently took the bottle of milk from the refrigerator and filled his cup. He then settled down in a comfortable chair. Eve sat in another chair near him.

"Roger, here's my guess, and it is just a guess. Suppose for just a moment that you were assigned the task of interrogating a suspected enemy agent. This person calls himself Roger Thornhill, and the real Roger Thornhill is not an enemy agent; in fact, the real Roger Thornhill is not an agent at all. But the man being questioned might not _really_ be Roger Thornhill. What kind of questions might you ask such a person, to determine whether he is who he purports to be, or whether he is an impostor?"

"They could have asked me what day is my birthday," Roger responded. "Or where I work, or what the names of my previous wives were."

"All right. But wouldn't you expect that an impostor would know your birthday?" Eve smiled placidly.

For Roger, realization dawned. "An impostor _would_ be expected to know my birthday! In fact, he'd probably know quite a lot about me: my ex-wives' names, my jobs, my military service, my places of residence, my favorite drinks." Roger took a breath. "But he might not know the name of my second-grade teacher." Roger nodded. "I see it now, and I think you're exactly right! These men knew there was a real Roger Thornhill, and they knew some of the minutia of my life. So that's what they asked about. They asked me about things that an impostor would be unlikely to know, but that the real Roger Thornhill would know!"

"There's might be a bit more to it than that, but maybe that's why they asked the questions they did."

"So they knew the name of my teacher in second grade, and they wanted to see whether I knew the name, too!"

Eve winced slightly. "Well, my guess is that neither of those two gentlemen knew the name of your teacher."

"What? They asked me her name! Why wouldn't they know? Didn't they want to find out whether I was lying or not?"

"This is hard to explain," Eve sighed. "When I was with Phillip Vandamm, one of the things protecting me was that I didn't know _anything_ about the Professor and his operations. Sometimes, the less you know, the less likely that you might let something slip."

"I'm not following. They were interrogating us, not the other way around."

"The Professor used to say that sometimes it is better to be ignorant than to be informed."

"More cloak-and-dagger logic," Roger remarked. "Ignorance is smart. Forward is backward."

"As the Professor once told me, in some interrogations, a skilled impostor can sometimes wangle an answer from the interrogator, if the interrogator knows what the answer is supposed to be. So sometimes the interrogator goes into an interrogation _not_ knowing the answer; but the interrogator also knows that any answer that the subject does give can later be checked for accuracy."

Roger sat silent for a moment. Eventually he granted the point. "I guess that makes sense, in a way. These two jokers came to this interview ignorant, and if you're right, that would mean they came here ignorant _on purpose_, so that they wouldn't accidentally give the answers away, in case I was an impostor."

Eve grinned. "That's how it seemed to me, but I could be wrong."

Roger offered a twisted grin. "You may be wrong, my dear, but what you just said sounds pretty right to me." Roger took a slow breath and let it out. "So, these two men, Proctor and Gamble—"

"Pearson and Green," Eve corrected gently.

Roger made an insincere "thanks" face. "These men are going to go back to their offices, check our answers for accuracy, and then, when they learn that we told the truth, we will be allowed to return to our own lives, and live happily ever after. Please, Eve, please tell me that that is what is going to happen next."

Eve's smile faded."I hope so, really I do. But when you asked the Professor that question, he answered with 'We'll see.' So, I expect that there is more to come."


	7. The Professor Returns

**7\. The Professor Returns**

Nothing happened for the next two days.

Bad weather kept Roger and Eve in the cabin, and Roger was getting tired of sitting around all day, reading. He realized he was feeling the rise of "cabin fever," _real_ "cabin fever," and he wasn't sure how long he'd be able to hold out before he'd go buggy.

Three days after the visit from Green and Pearson, the Professor paid a call shortly after nine in the morning. He drove to the house by himself, with no driver and no motorcade. He brought a paper sack of groceries with him. Eve warmly welcomed the Professor into the cabin.

Roger greeted his visitor with: "Professor, I never thought I'd say this, but I am glad to see you."

The Professor chuckled, but said nothing.

"Professor, I was wondering, would it be possible for me to make a telephone call to my mother, to let her know that I'm 'on vacation,' as it were."

"Oh, you don't need to worry about your mother," the Professor replied, as he removed the groceries from the sack. "Your co-worker, Mr. Taylor, telephoned her and explained everything."

"_Taylor?!_" Roger exclaimed with alarm. "I don't work with anyone named Taylor!"

The Professor stopped what he was doing, but before he could offer an explanation, Roger understood. Roger turned to Eve and knowingly nodded, and she grinned in reply.

"I think I get it. Taylor is _your_ man. You had your man call my mother, identify himself as a man from my office, and tell her that I was going away for a few days."

The Professor grinned. "You are catching on, Mr. Thornhill."

"Actually, Eve told me that you would probably have taken care of notifying my mother. But even so, I hope I am catching on to this cloak-and-dagger way of doing things."

"I'm glad."

Roger steeled himself, and asked, "I see you brought some groceries; I assume they are intended for the next occupants of this cabin, and not for us?"

The Professor made no immediate reply.

"What I mean, Professor, is that the reason you're here is to take us back home, isn't that right?"

The Professor took a deep breath and faced Roger. "I'm sorry, Mr. Thornhill, but—"

"Eve and I were questioned," Roger interrupted. "We answered every question truthfully; we know we did and they know we did. We're all done here, aren't we?"

"There's no simple way to put this," said the Professor.

Roger's voice held a note of growing anger. "There _never_ is a simple way for you to say anything, is there? And let me tell you, man to man, that I am getting tired of hearing that nothing is simple. You told us—"

"When _can_ we go home, Professor?" Eve interrupted.

"If all goes well, tomorrow. Possibly later today."

"And is there any reason to think things won't go well?" Eve followed up, cutting off Roger's chance to make a snide remark.

"None that I know of." The Professor turned to Roger. "As you have noticed, Mr. Thornhill, I brought you some groceries. But if you look here, there's only enough for a day, or two days at the most."

"I just want to get out of here," Roger growled.

"You will. No later than tomorrow. You have my word."

"Let me be clear. I want to get out of here and _go home_. I don't want to get out of here, only to be relocated to another remote cabin!"

The Professor stole a look at Eve, who seemed to be covering a smile. The Professor then turned back to face Roger. "As I say, Mr. Thornhill, you seem to be catching on."

"All I know is that deception is a principal element in your line of work. Everything you promise has some 'fine print' attached to it. I'm starting to pay attention to that 'fine print' and how it would let you weasel out of the promises you've made."

"Professor," Eve broke in, "we were interrogated three days ago."

"Yes, I know."

"Do you know whether our answers to their questions were satisfactory?"

"I can say unequivocally, with no 'fine print' attached, that all of your answers were satisfactory. But I must also tell you that you can expect to be interrogated again, later today."

"At what time?" Roger asked evenly.

"I don't know. Perhaps later this morning. Perhaps this afternoon. My advice is the same as before. Listen respectfully to what they ask, and give them _only_ what they ask for." The Professor glanced at his watch. "And I ought to be gone before they arrive; so, please forgive me, but I must be off."


	8. New Visitors

**8\. New Visitors**

Two hours after the Professor departed, a black Ford sedan rolled up to the cabin.

Roger had been catnapping, but woke to the sound of a slamming car door.

"Two men," Eve reported from the window. "Not the same two as before." A moment later, she corrected herself. "No, wait; there's a third man getting out from the back seat. He looks older, and more important than the other two. Oh, they've just spotted me watching them through the window. Here they come."

Eve opened the front door before there was any knock. At the forefront was a distinguished man in a charcoal gray suit. He wore horn-rimmed glasses and was balding, with some wisps of gray hair near his temples. He looked at Eve first, then at Roger. "Mrs. Thornhill? Mr. Thornhill? My name is Rice. May I come in?"

Roger pursed his lips. Eve answered, "Yes, you may."

Rice entered. One of his companions, standing to his rear, did not move. The other man remained near the car. "My men are happy to remain outside," Rice explained, motioning Eve to close the door. With the door closed, Rice stood still, making no effort to find a chair. He slowly reached into the breast pocket of his jacket and withdrew a wallet, which he flipped open to reveal a badge and an identity card. He showed them to Eve, then offered them to Roger.

Roger made no move to take what was being offered to him. He could see that there was a metal badge, and an official-looking identity card, with a thumbprint instead of a photograph. The badge and identity card looked similar to those that the previous two men had shown. Once again, Roger reminded himself that he had no way to know whether these items were fakes or not, so there was no point in examining them more closely.

Rice calmly flipped closed his wallet and replaced the wallet in his jacket pocket. In a menacing voice, he said, "I want to tell you, Mr. and Mrs. Thornhill, that we know everything."

"It was nice of you to drop by to let us know that you know everything," Roger suddenly spouted. Eve subtly shook her head to try to signal Roger to be quiet, but Roger grit his teeth and pressed on. "I take it, then, that you have no questions for us and you'll be on your way."

Rice glared into Roger's eyes for several seconds. Roger glared right back. Rice was the first to lower his eyes. "I know you have a sharp sense of humor, Mr. Thornhill."

"I wasn't joking."

"Perhaps we could sit down and talk for a few minutes?" Rice spoke in an unwavering voice.

Roger was about to reply, but Eve interjected, "Yes, of course, Mr. Rice." Eve directed Rice to a chair, then seized Roger's elbow and dragged him to the sofa.

Rice cleared his throat. "There was some lack of clarity as to whether the two of you were indeed Roger Thornhill and the former Evangelene Osborne," Rice spoke evenly. "You should be pleased to know that your identities have been confirmed. You should therefore have no preoccupations about answering my questions."

"Pardon me?" Roger interjected. "Why do you need to ask us any more questions?"

Rice stared at Roger, unblinking, then stated, "Please don't be difficult, Mr. Thornhill."

Roger huffed and felt himself getting hot. He wanted to answer in a calm voice, but Eve spoke before he could say anything.

"Please excuse my husband. We don't want to be difficult. Ask us what you need to ask us."

Rice hesitated, then continued: "As I was saying, you should answer my questions without hesitation. Before I ask my questions, I will take this opportunity to caution you that any false or misleading answers may have serious legal consequences, including criminal penalties. Those criminal penalties include substantial fines and terms of imprisonment. Furthermore, a lack of cooperation on your part can carry with it criminal consequences. If you are not cooperative, I will _not_ hesitate to have charges brought against you."

Eve knew that Roger did not take well to being threatened, and that he seemed to be on the verge of losing his temper; so she asked Rice, "What do you want to know, Mr. Rice?"

"Listen very carefully. I want you to tell me what you know about _Mount Royal_. Mr. Thornhill, you first."

Roger's anger vanished in an instant, replaced with bewilderment. "I'm sorry," he stammered. "Mount Royal? Do you mean Mount _Rushmore_?"

Rice sighed and glared sternly at Roger, as though Roger had just spit on his shoes. "Mr. Thornhill, I am quite sure that I was clear. Now, this is the last time that I am going to caution you. Be cooperative, please."

"I _am_ being cooperative!" Roger protested. "I never heard of anything about Mount Royal! I thought you might have meant Mount Rushmore instead! But if you're interested in Mount Royal, I can't tell you anything. I don't even know where Mount Royal is!"

"Mount Royal is in Canada, if I'm not mistaken," Eve added helpfully. "It's in Montreal, and in fact, the name 'Montreal' comes from 'Mount Royal.'"

Rice glared at Eve, then at Roger. "I am not interested in any geographical feature of Canada," he hissed. "Do not play games with me."

Roger tried to put as much sincerity into his voice as he could manage. "Mr. Rice, we are not playing games. If you're not interested in Mount Royal in Canada, then we have no idea what you're talking about."

"_Operation_ Mount Royal," Rice said, carefully enunciating each word. "What do you know about Operation Mount Royal?"

Roger flashed back to Eve remarking that sometimes it's better to be ignorant. This seemed to him to be one of those times. "Nothing at all," he asserted with conviction. "I have never heard of any operations in general, and I have never heard of Operation Mount Royal in particular, until you yourself mentioned it to me. That is the truth."

"My answer is the same as my husband's," Eve added. "Until you mentioned it, I had never heard of Operation Mount Royal."

Rice did not seem satisfied. "What do you know of Dr. Stephen Van Buren?"

"Nothing," Eve answered simply.

"Never heard of him," Roger said. Roger wondered whether this Dr. Van Buren, whoever he was, was a medical doctor or some other kind of educated man.

As if in answer to Roger's unasked question, Rice continued: "What do you know about a scientist? A scientist working with a submarine?"

"Nothing," Eve and Roger answered in unison.

"Nothing at all?" Rice looked at them suspiciously. "What do you know about the Algeria transfer?"

"Nothing."

"About the Derby painting?"

"Nothing."

"You are telling me," Rice's tone was grave, "that you have no information of any kind about _any_ of these subjects? Under threat of _serious_ penalty, you are telling me that you have _no_ information of any kind."

"That is exactly what we are telling you," Roger declared. "And it is the truth. Neither Eve nor I are involved in the intelligence business."

Rice softened a bit. "I didn't mean to suggest that either of you were in the intelligence community. But I'm asking whether you might have been informed, or heard anything—?"

Roger and Eve looked at one another, then at Rice.

"We haven't," Eve said simply.

"We don't even know what you're talking about," Roger added. Roger flashed back to a memory in which he told Vandamm, truthfully, that Roger didn't know what Vandamm was talking about. Vandamm's next move was to try to murder Roger.

Roger wondered what Rice's next move might be.

Everyone sat in silence for nearly half a minute. Rice stared at the two of them icily. Presently he stood without a word. Roger and Eve followed his lead. "I can assure you," Rice said slowly, "that if your identities had not been confirmed, this questioning would not have been quite so pleasant."

"Now, there's a usage of the word 'pleasant' with which I am unfamiliar," Roger remarked, some sarcasm creeping into his voice. "Mr. Rice, this whole process has been decidedly unpleasant for us. All of this effort to get us out here in the middle of heaven-knows-where, the business of trying to establish who we are, it was all such a waste of effort."

"It was _necessary_," Rice said simply.

"But as best I can tell, there were so many more efficient ways of establishing our identities," Roger said. "Far be it from me—" Roger stopped.

"Far be it from you, _what_?" Rice prompted.

"Far be it from me to tell you your business," Roger finished his thought meekly. "May we return home now?"

"You'll be contacted," Rice said, and with that, he turned toward the door of the cabin, opened the door, and walked out.

"Not even a word of goodbye," Roger said quietly.

Roger and Eve watched Rice get into the car with the other two men, and drive away.


	9. The Drive Home

**9\. The Drive Home**

After Rice left, Roger began to pack, with the expectation of leaving the cabin very soon, while Eve made some sandwiches. "I wonder how much longer we'll have to wait," she remarked. "Maybe you shouldn't pack just yet. The Professor said we might not get out of here until tomorrow."

Roger mumbled a grunt, but otherwise said nothing, and kept packing.

"I think we did just fine," Eve continued. "We answered with the truth."

Roger grunted again.

"You're not worried, dear, are you?"

Roger's voice was uncharacteristically quiet. "No, I'm not worried. Just wondering."

"Wondering about what?"

"Wondering about what we just experienced."

"Maybe you can ask the Professor about it."

"Maybe. I hope he gets here soon. And I also hope he keeps his promise to take us back home."

About half an hour later, a car pulled up to the house. The driver emerged and opened the door to the back seat, from which the Professor emerged. Before the Professor and the driver could knock on the cabin door, Roger opened the door for them. The Professor immediately broke into a grin. "We've come to take you home, Mr. Thornhill! If you'd care to pack, I'll have Reginald put your things in the trunk of the car."

"We're already packed," Roger replied simply.

"Oh, you are? Very well, then! Reginald, would you please—?"

The driver stepped into the cabin, found the suitcases, and carried them out of the cabin and toward the car.

The Professor beckoned jovially, "Well, shall we go?"

"No escort vehicles this time?" Roger wondered.

"They're not needed, Mr. Thornhill. In fact, you won't need any extra security measures, from now on."

Roger nodded silently.

"So we're safe, now?" Eve asked.

"Yes, quite safe. All of the dangers to you have been resolved."

Roger, Eve, and the Professor each quickly scanned the cabin to be sure nothing was being left behind. After they exited the cabin, the Professor closed the cabin door and directed them to the car. As before, Eve sat in the front seat, and Roger and the Professor sat in the back.

Reginald turned the car in a wide arc and drove away from the cabin.

When the car reached a paved road, the Professor started to make small talk, catching them up on the news of the past several days. Eve joined him in conversation about various insignificant matters, while Roger paid attention to the roads and the signage. Roger was hoping to find out where he and Eve had been staying. After a while, he concluded that his first guess was correct, and that they had been in the Finger Lakes region of New York. There came a point where he recognized the road on which his car was driving, and he realized that he and Eve were less than an hour from their house.

Roger doubted, however, that he'd ever be able to find that cabin again if he went looking for it, not that he has any plans ever to do so.

Even so, Roger was relieved that, for the first time in days, he knew where he was. And he was also relieved that it looked as though he and Eve really were indeed going home.

The Professor had moved on to making small talk about the weather. Roger interrupted him. "Professor, I wonder whether I might talk with you about our experience of the past few days."

"Of course."

"This last fellow who visited us, who called himself Rice—"

"Yes?"

"He asked us about something called Operation Mount Royal."

"Did he?" The Professor's tone was grave. "I hope you answered him truthfully."

"Yes, we did. We both said that we didn't know anything about it. He mentioned a few other facts, some doctor, presumably a scientist of some type. He mentioned a submarine, something about a painting, something about Algeria. We told him we didn't know anything about any of that. And we were completely honest."

"That's good. Honesty is the best policy, you know."

Roger smirked. "I am glad to hear you say that, Professor, because I'd like to have some honesty from you. For a change."

The Professor raised his eyebrows. "Is there something on your mind, Mr. Thornhill?"

"Yes, there is. There's no such thing as Operation Mount Royal, is there?"

The Professor seemed to be momentarily stunned by the question. "Now, what makes you say that?"

Roger ignored the Professor's inquiry and went on. "The first two men who talked to us. They had identification saying they were with the SIR Division. There is no SIR Division, is there? And the two men, they weren't even real government agents, were they? That fellow, Rice, I bet he wasn't a real agent, either. What were they really, actors?"

The Professor seemed to be at a loss for words. Presently he said, "Mr. Thornhill, I don't know who has been putting these ideas into your head."

"I've been putting the ideas into my head myself, thank you for asking. And I'd like some honest answers from you. This business about our possibly being impostors, about us having some information about this Operation Mount Royal: it was all a load of elaborate fakery, wasn't it? Honestly, Professor?"

The Professor took several seconds to answer. "Mr. Thornhill, I will give you an honest answer, but first, I must ask you this: What led you to suspect that this was just an 'elaborate fakery,' as you put it?"

"Three words. _Cloak. And. Dagger._"

"I'm sorry?"

"That's your _business_, cloak-and-dagger. From the time you approached me until now, it was all cloak-and-dagger. And one thing I've learned from you is that, when it comes to cloak-and-dagger stuff, everything is backwards, nothing is as it seems. Up is down, right is left, black is white."

The Professor chuckled. "I wouldn't be very good at cloak-and-dagger, as you put it, if _everything_ was based upon deception. My work demands a degree of credibility, you know, so there always has to be some truth to what we do."

"Possibly," Roger conceded. "But it occurred to me that maybe, just maybe, I had the whole thing backwards. Maybe, just maybe, the persons being investigated as impostors—Eve and me—might be authentic, and the _ones doing the investigating_ might be the impostors!"

"That's certainly a creative way of looking at things."

It was Roger's turn to chuckle. "The man who conjured George Kaplan out of thin air thinks I'm being creative, does he? You know, I noticed something fishy when the first two men arrived, and they showed us identifying documents, badges, identity cards. It occurred to me right away that I had no idea whether these badges and cards were genuine. They could have been faked, and I'd have no way to know. And it became clear to me later that these things were faked!"

"It became clear to you, how?"

"Fingerprints."

The Professor waited for some additional explanation, but when none was forthcoming, he prompted, "I'm not sure how you mean."

"Well, now, if someone wanted to find out whether we were the real Roger and Eve Thornhill, why question us? Why ask us about trivial events from our past? Why not simply take our fingerprints? I don't know about Eve, but my fingerprints have been taken at least three times, most recently at the Glen Cove police station after my first encounter with Vandamm."

The Professor jutted out his lower lip and nodded. "An interesting point."

"And I got thinking that those identity cards that the men carried: they had no photographs, only thumbprints. Now why would that be? I suspected that maybe the answer was that preparing a fake identification with a photograph may have taken too much time and effort. It would be much easier to prepare the fake identification documents ahead of time, put some thumbprints on them, assign them some commonplace names like Pearson and Rice and Green, and simply issue the cards to whoever happened to play the particular roles." Roger stopped for a moment to gauge the Professor's reaction.

"Please, do go on," the Professor said, with no discernable emotion. "This is most fascinating."

"I found it odd that the men who carried those cards, assuming they were in the field of intelligence, did not seem to me to be very _intelligent_. They didn't seem to know anything about me. This Rice fellow, whose name probably isn't Rice, bragged that he knew _everything_ about Eve and me; yet that obviously was not the case. When he said, 'Mount Royal,' I asked him whether he meant Mount Rushmore. Well, an intelligence agent who _really_ knew everything about me would understand right away _why_ I asked him for clarification. But Rice behaved like I was just making trouble. The more I thought about it, the more the men who questioned us seemed like actors: actors who were trying to _pretend_ that they were government agents. It seemed to me that someone gave them some instructions as to the kinds of questions to ask, and almost no other information."

The Professor jutted his lower lip again. "Is that all?"

"No," Roger replied simply. "But now it's _your_ turn. You promised me an honest explanation. I repeat, _an honest explanation_."

"All right," the Professor nodded. "You've earned it."

"I mean it, Professor," Roger urged with a note of menace in his voice. "No more cloak-and-dagger."

"No more cloak-and-dagger," repeated the Professor with a note of resignation. "Well. You were quite right about a number of things, Mr. Thornhill. There _is_ no Operation Mount Royal. Those men who visited you _were_ actors, not agents. They were told they were preparing for a possible motion picture project, and they were given very rudimentary information about their roles and what to say, and they were instructed to improvise. From your remarks, I take it that their performances were not very convincing."

"Oh, they seemed quite convincing at first," Roger granted. "It was the entire scenario, not their performances, that I found hard to swallow."

"Even so. You spotted the true impostors, which can be in itself quite a feat. My congratulations to you."

"Thank you. And now tell me why you stuck Eve and me out in a cabin in the middle of nowhere for nearly a week. It wasn't really because our lives really were in danger, was it?"

The Professor didn't answer right away. After several seconds, he said, "Mr. Thornhill, do you remember our conversation in Rapid City, South Dakota, just before you went to Vandamm's home to try to help Eve?"

"What about it?"

"You promised me you'd cooperate. Your exact words to me were, if I remember correctly, 'I'm a cooperator.' You looked me straight in the eye."

"So?"

"You lied to me, Mr. Thornhill. You looked me in the eye and lied. You didn't cooperate. In fact, you had _no intention_ of being cooperative, isn't that right?"

Roger swallowed and eventually nodded. He looked the Professor in the eye and declared, "That's right. I lied."

"You were in a locked room."

"Yes."

"And you escaped."

"Yes."

"Did you know that I had a devil of a time finding where you'd gone? Did you know I had no idea how much damage you might do? Did you know that I had to re-engage the services of local law enforcement in order to find you? In short, Mr. Thornhill, do you have any idea how much trouble you caused me by going back on your word?"

"I suppose I ought to remind you," Roger hissed through clenched teeth, "that if I hadn't done what I did, Vandamm would have murdered Eve."

"You don't need to remind me of that, just as I don't need to remind _you_ that the two of you came within _inches_ of perishing. Now. I'll grant you that things turned out all right in the end. But you must understand: this little stunt of yours could have been an unmitigated disaster. You created inexcusable risks."

"So that's why Eve and I were confined to that cabin and placed in fear of our lives? As punishment for my sins in South Dakota?"

For the first time in several minutes, the Professor smiled. "Oh, no, not as punishment, Mr. Thornhill; as a precaution. Let's just say that I needed you to be away from New York City for a time. I needed you to be out of the way, just as I needed you to be out of the way in South Dakota. Now, I couldn't accept your word that you'd stay out of the way, could I, after you'd lied to my face in South Dakota? I couldn't very well lock you in a room again, and risk another escape, could I? And I couldn't very well let you run off to Connecticut or Vermont without supervision, could I? After all, you might return to the city at an unexpected time, and that might inadvertently—shall we say—foul things up."

"So you hustled us out to a cabin far away from civilization, where we had no telephone and no way of getting back to New York City. And to make sure we stayed there, you told us some tale that placed us in fear of our lives, and told us that we'd have to endure questioning."

"More or less, yes."

"And why, pray tell, did you need Eve and me to be 'out of the way,' as you called it?"

The Professor chuckled. "I'm afraid, Mr. Thornhill, that I will have to keep most of that information secret for the time being. I can tell you only that some of what I already told you was true. Someone _was_ showing an unusual interest in the late George Kaplan, and may have been having doubts as to the authenticity of his, er, 'death.' Your presence at the wrong time in the wrong place would have been most dangerous for you and for Eve and for others."

"I suppose I'll have no choice but to take your word about that?" Roger said with sarcasm.

"Yes, I suppose that you will. But just consider for a moment, Mr. Thornhill, what might have happened if a person unknown to you decided to seek you out and discuss with you the subject of George Kaplan. Suppose you let it slip, without meaning to do so, that George Kaplan was entirely fictitious. Or suppose that this unknown person told you that he _already knew_ that George Kaplan was not a real person, and you unwittingly confirmed that fact for him."

"You're saying you couldn't trust me to keep the secret. Just as you couldn't trust me with the phony Look Magazine interview."

"Correct. I mean you no offense, but the false promise you made to me in South Dakota, and your escape, meant that I could not trust you. If you were to reveal in some way that all our work creating George Kaplan was a ruse, then you and your wife and many others would find themselves in great peril."

"So you needed me to be 'out of the way.' I take it you don't need me 'out of the way' any longer?"

"Correct. Everything was fairly well resolved yesterday, and today it seemed to be certain that there was no longer any danger in letting you return to your life."

"Why did Eve have to go through this experience as well? You trust _her_, don't you?"

"For one thing, we didn't know how long you'd have to be confined, as it were, and we didn't want you to be lonely. And besides, isolating you and letting Eve take care of herself was exactly the situation in South Dakota, and you were most dissatisfied with that situation, were you not? It was better all-around, wasn't it, for the two of you to share the experience?"

Roger mulled the Professor's words for nearly a minute. "I suppose I can see it from your point of view," he grumbled. "It's just that I don't like these cloak-and-dagger games."

The Professor understood. "I am truly sorry for all of the worry and inconvenience that I caused you and your wife, Mr. Thornhill. But I assure you that it was necessary."

"Oh, I'm _sure_ it was necessary," Roger replied with some sarcasm.

"Necessary for you, and, as it turned out, highly beneficial to us. Not only were you out of the way, you assisted me in ways that you may not have realized. You may recall, Mr. Thornhill, that I complimented you a few days ago on your ability to 'catch on' to how things might be done in work involving intelligence."

"Yes. So?"

"That was not idle flattery on my part. You _were_ catching on. Indeed, you were catching on more than I myself realized at the time. The fact that you caught on to the interrogations being counterfeits conducted by actors, why, that was most impressive! You have helped me to identify ways in which my future operations may be less likely to be exposed. I thank you for that."

Roger huffed. "You're welcome."

"And you," chuckled the Professor, pointing to a residential neighborhood through the car window, "are nearly home. I should tell you that you will have to contact the Post Office to resume getting your mail, and you will have to contact the newspaper and the milkman to resume your morning deliveries."

"I suppose I ought to thank you for taking care of those things. What am I allowed to tell mother about my absence? What am I allowed to tell the people at the office?"

"If I were you, Mr. Thornhill, I would tell them that an old friend of yours, a former university professor, offered to let you and Eve spend some time at his cabin out in the country. You decided to give it a try, hoping to relax, but instead you found the experience to be less enjoyable than you had imagined it would be."

"Yes, that would be close enough to the truth," Roger responded. "Me, spending time in a rustic cabin instead of a luxury hotel, and not enjoying myself? Mother certainly would have no difficulty believing that."

A few minutes later, the car pulled up in front of the Thornhill home. The Professor offered his right hand to Roger, and the two men shook hands and exchanged terse goodbyes. While the Professor remained in the back seat, Roger and Eve got out of the car and stretched their legs. Reginald hurried to the trunk and extracted the luggage, and then began hauling it to the front door.

"Go ahead and unlock the front door for the driver," Eve prompted Roger. "I'll be along after I say goodbye to the Professor."

When Roger and Reginald reached the front door of the house, Eve leaned through an open rear window of the car. "Professor," Eve said, "what you told Roger on the drive home, was it the truth?"

"Why? The Professor asked innocently. "Do you think your husband was unsatisfied? Do you think he believes I was playing more cloak-and-dagger games?"

"I think he believes he now knows the truth."

The Professor looked Eve in the eye. "And so he does. Goodbye, Eve."

"Goodbye, Professor."

The Professor smiled kindly.

THE END


End file.
